


centre stage

by treescape



Series: to have and to hold [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Obi-Wan pulls the strings behind the scenes, Oral Sex, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Suitless Darth Vader, Three years post-Revenge of the Sith, Vaderwan, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape
Summary: “Youcouldsimply go alone next time,” Obi-Wan said, allowing his voice to catch somewhere between tired and amused. The tiredness, at least, was real. When Anakin’s only response was to watch him with narrowed eyes, far more closely than he’d cared to watchChalice and Altar, Obi-Wan smiled just faintly enough for the slant of lips to register on his face. “Oh yes, I forgot. Then your Emperor wouldn’t be able to parade his captive Jedi before the galactic elite.”Or, Obi-Wan and Anakin return home from a night at the opera.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader
Series: to have and to hold [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970581
Comments: 26
Kudos: 229





	centre stage

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is not the fourth part I promised, which was to be Obi-Wan and Vaderkin’s first time. I’m a tad bit stuck, though I do hope to be done it soon. But I really, really wanted to post another part of this series for my birthday, so I hope you’ll enjoy this in the meantime 😅
> 
> This is for my lovely friend [picavenger14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picavenger14/pseuds/picavenger14), who asked “Does Anakin take Obi-Wan with him to important Empire functions? Like the high society “seen to be seen” type galas? Ballet openings, or Empire Day festivities?” The answer is: why yes. Yes he does.
> 
> This is set shortly after [on reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671035) time wise, so about three years after Mustafar, though can likely be read as a standalone. The most important background to know is that Mustafar went a little differently and Obi-Wan gave himself to Anakin as a distraction to hide Luke and Leia's existence from him. Obi-Wan's playing a long game.

Once, their shared quarters had been a refuge from the world, but those had been different quarters. Obi-Wan longed for them, sometimes, when he could afford to—the durable walls of affection, the boundless comfort of trust. Obi-Wan found that _these_ rooms felt more like a stage, especially on nights like tonight. Here, he performed his surrenders again and again, each on the heels of the last.

He waited until the door had closed behind him before turning, the neutral slope of his shoulders firmly in place. Anakin was a dark presence in the entryway, gaze heated and annoyed, as if he could somehow burn away the memory of any eyes but his. In some ways, Obi-Wan thought these social events were as much a trial for Anakin as they were for him. Anakin did so hate to share, even something so small as Obi-Wan’s presence.

“You _could_ simply go alone next time,” Obi-Wan said, allowing his voice to catch somewhere between tired and amused. The tiredness, at least, was real. When Anakin’s only response was to watch him with narrowed eyes, far more closely than he’d cared to watch _Chalice and Altar_ , Obi-Wan smiled just faintly enough for the slant of lips to register on his face. “Oh yes, I forgot. Then your Emperor wouldn’t be able to parade his captive Jedi before the galactic elite.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan wondered if he’d said it too casually, or perhaps not casually enough, but no. A flare of anger, a shift of fabric that spoke of fingers curled within the sleeves of Anakin’s dress robes—it was enough to know his remark had hit as closely as he’d calculated. Anakin burned hot and sullen at the thought that any but he held a semblance of control over Obi-Wan.

Perhaps Obi-Wan shouldn’t be so pleased at that. He _knew_ he shouldn’t be, even if it was a victory of sorts in the odd tug-of-war between himself and Sidious. He couldn’t help but wonder, his mind too close to the edge of bitterness, how things might have fallen out had Sidious been present that evening. Obi-Wan could only be grateful that it was never so; he didn’t think he was strong enough to stomach it.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Anakin said stiffly, shoulders tight beneath the smooth drape of velvet and shimmersilk. The lie was woven sharply into his voice, the seams of it catching like satyn on splintered wood. He pushed further into the room, his face a labyrinth of emotions. Obi-Wan would have to walk its twists and turns that night, unravelling _anger_ from _jealousy_ from _want_ and following each to its source. Some, he would pull tighter. Others, he would try to unmake in this space that was now their home.

Obi-Wan slowly shed his cloak, easing his arms from the loose sleeves and tracking the measured slide of heavy wool. Anakin seldom bothered to comment anymore at his insistence on wearing Jedi robes, even three years after the Order’s destruction. Obi-Wan wondered if it was resignation, or indifference, or if Anakin had simply decided that he _liked_ the reminder that this relic of the Jedi so frequently bent to his pleasure.

Perhaps it was none. Perhaps it was all, and more besides.

He could feel the weight of Anakin’s eyes, so much heavier than the folds of the cloak he held. Only when he had folded the familiar garment and set it aside on the small table by the door did he speak again, barer now. More exposed. 

“You know I only go for you.” In so many ways, it was the truth, even if Anakin wouldn’t see it as such. Perhaps one day he would; it was a wish that Obi-Wan fed steadily to the Force, kindling for the embers of hope. Everything about these rare public nights came back to Anakin, and the children, and that foolish, undying wish—every shred of information gleaned, every secret he carefully tucked away. The look in Mothma’s eyes, as if she couldn’t seem to figure him out. The way Tarkin and Krennic had avoided ech other just a little too carefully.

The faint tension in Bail’s face, visible to Obi-Wan even across the gallery.

Anakin dropped into his usual chair near the bookshelves, one elbow propped tensely on the armrest. One leg came up to rest on the other, ankle to knee. His eyes never wavered, as if he thought Obi-Wan might suddenly vanish in the low light of these rooms like a trick on the stage. “Maybe you should prove it.”

“I thought I did that every day just by still being here,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was matter-of-fact, but it was gentle, too, even if he didn’t consciously will it to be so.

Anakin’s fingers shifted on the armrest, smoothing against the fabric. “Maybe I want you to prove it right now anyway.”

“And just how would you have me do that?”

Anakin shrugged, somehow slow and sharp all at once, and Obi-Wan considered his options. He thought about sitting, about letting Anakin fix him with grasping eyes, about soothing with words and familiarity. He thought about simply making his way into their bedchamber, about letting Anakin follow as he wished, with eyes or with body or both.

Bu there had been that look on Bail’s face, as if he somehow had cause for concern. It could have been about anything, really, but it had left uneasiness in Obi-Wan’s gut, tendrils of disquiet curling up the length of his spine. If Bail was worried about something, the best thing Obi-Wan could do was hold Anakin’s thoughts as tightly as he possibly could.

And Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan _wanted_ , as much as he might wish he didn’t. Anakin was beautiful, slouched down in his chair, a tangle of tense lines and loose limbs. His hair shone bronze in the light, his face vivid and rich, like the only colour in a dreamfield of grey. It felt impossible, sometimes, for Obi-Wan to wrap his mind around just how much he could _want_ , but Anakin was a desire that burned always in his blood.

Obi-Wan crossed the room, steps sure and firm, until he stood close enough to wrap the fingers of one hand around Anakin’s ankle. Even through the soft leather of Anakin’s boot, Obi-Wan fancied he could feel the elegant curve of bone. He let his thumb caress along the leather—one sweep, two, three—before lifting and then dropping Anakin’s leg so that both feet were planted firmly on the floor. If he guiltily tucked the hitch in Anakin’s breathing away in his memory, that was no one’s business but his own.

Anakin straightened just a little and reached out to toy with the belt at Obi-Wan’s waist, flesh fingers fully visible as the sleeve of his own robes fell and pooled at his elbow. Obi-Wan let him, for a moment, the heat of that hand unmistakeable through layers of fabric, and then knelt in one easy movement, shouldering Anakin’s legs wider.

The look on Anakin’s face was well worth any discomfort in his knees.

Anakin was already more than half hard when Obi-Wan pushed aside his robes and pulled his cock from the loose fitting trousers beneath, and Obi-Wan smiled. Anakin had been on edge all night, because Obi-Wan had kept him that way—an occasional brush of a hand against Anakin’s arm, a faint press of shoulders as they sat side by side, one memorable touch to the inside of Anakin’s knee. Obi-Wan gave one lazy stroke from base to tip, twisting his wrist a little at the head, and watched Anakin’s eyes grow bluer with desire.

A firm, warm hand suddenly gripped under his jaw, fingers pressing into the soft skin beneath. Anakin’s gaze held his for a long moment, but whatever he found, his grip slowly loosened, thumb smoothing along the line of Obi-Wan’s beard. Obi-Wan rubbed his own thumb over the head of Anakin’s cock in response before tightly dragging his hand back down.

“Is this what you wanted me to do all night?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice curious, as if he truly wondered. He leaned in to lick at the slit before pulling back to glance up the line of Anakin’s body. “In front of all those people?”

“No,” Anakin said sharply, the flush of anticipation on his face darkening with anger. His fingers tightened a fraction—not enough to hurt, not that, but enough that Obi-Wan would still be able to feel it when they loosened once again. “No one gets to see you but me.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, and then took Anakin into the heat of his mouth for just a moment, sucking lightly around the head. He made sure Anakin could hear the slick sound as he pulled off, somehow louder in his own ears than any of the scores he had heard that night. “Ah, well. Perhaps if our box were a little more private.” It was made for them to be seen, of course—held at a remove but always visible, Sidious’s most powerful servant and his faithful Jedi _prisoner_.

“Shut up,” Anakin breathed, and then his hand was curling into Obi-Wan’s hair as his lips nudged up off the chair. Obi-Wan let him push back inside, drawing his tongue down the underside in a slow glide. The stretch of Anakin at his lips, the smell of him all around, the look of rapt possession when he cast his eyes up—it was enough to lose himself in.

But then, he’d always been lost in Anakin; he’d only found new ways to do it in the years since Mustafar. He could only aspire to find himself there again, too, as he had so often in times past.

“Is that what _you_ wanted, Obi-Wan? For me to fuck you at the opera, where everyone could see?”

The words hardly deserved an answer beyond his flush of distaste, but Obi-Wan knew exactly what Anakin wanted. He slid his mouth back up so he could speak, lips brushing against the wet head, the taste of Anakin’s desire. “No,” he said, voice hoarse in the deafening silence of the room. “I think not, Anakin.”

Anakin smiled at the words, slow and pleased in the low light, and tangled his hand deeper into Obi-Wan’s hair—not pushing, this time, or even guiding. Just touching, as if to keep Obi-wan always close.

“Good,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan suppressed the slow creep of dread at the pleasure he found in that word, because sometimes—

Sometimes these rooms weren’t really a stage at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is an ongoing series which will occasionally have nonlinear installments so that I can jump around in the timeline. There are a number of parts I'm currently planning for this series, including a few from prompts.
> 
> I'm [treescape](https://treescape.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you ever want to come say hi or drop a prompt!


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